


Siri, What Are The Symptoms of Food Poisoning?

by lysscor



Series: Pining Andrew [2]
Category: Buzzfeed: Worth It (Web Series)
Genre: Crushes, Feelings Realization, M/M, Pining, andrew is an idiot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 21:20:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14028987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lysscor/pseuds/lysscor
Summary: Andrew thinks he must be drunk. What other reason could there be for the way his heart is beating at the speed of light and his brain has suddenly become a muddled mess?





	Siri, What Are The Symptoms of Food Poisoning?

**Author's Note:**

> This takes place at the end of the cocktail episode because that video owns my soul along with the brunch one

Andrew thinks he must be drunk.

Sure, he didn’t drink very much tonight, and the drinks really weren’t all that strong, and he doesn’t feel drunk in any way - but what other explanation is there? What other reason could there be for the way his heart is beating at the speed of light and his brain has suddenly become a muddled mess? And yes, okay, this all started when Steven put his head on Andrew’s shoulder, but that’s nothing new. Steven is  _ constantly _ touching him - standing so close when filming that their legs or arms are pressed together; putting a casual arm around his shoulders; draping himself over Andrew’s chair at work - not touching him, quite, but close enough that Andrew can feel his breath on his neck and his body heat permeating the air between them. And that never makes Andrew feel anything but mildly annoyed.

He  _ must  _ be drunk. Or maybe he’s just ill, because he knows his limits and he knows he didn’t drink nearly enough to be feeling anything from it, but now Steven is looking up at him with the softest eyes Andrew has ever seen and he feels like he might throw up.

“Ugh, your butt is so warm.”

At Adam’s voice, Steven springs away from Andrew and giggles like a child and Andrew’s already foggy brain short circuits. His face is burning and his heart is hammering so hard he thinks it might rip right through his chest and, wow, wouldn’t that be a way to end the video. Through his dizziness, he’s dimly aware that he maybe should be laughing, so he forces a short chuckle. 

“Uh,” he stammers. “Do we - should we - should we cut here?”

“Do we have an out?” Steven asks. “Is that the out?”

“Uhmm -” Andrew’s head is spinning so much that he can hardly form a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. “No,” he manages finally. “That was stupid.”

Adam cuts anyway, and Andrew is a little grateful because now he can close his eyes and wait for the swarm of butterflies swirling around his stomach to  _ calm the fuck down. _ Steven is laughing, saying something to Adam, and Adam responds quietly. Andrew hears none of it. All he can hear is the sound of his own blood pounding in his ears.

Without quite knowing why, he glances at Steven. He’s smiling sleepily, his eyes closed and his head tilted back. His hair shines white in the lights of the passing streetlamps. It’s almost angelic. Andrew’s heart does a strange hop, which he attributes to a bump in the road. He rubs his arm; it feels disproportionately cold now that Steven is no longer infringing on his personal space.

He doesn’t see the knowing look Adam gives him. Nor does he notice the way Adam shifts subtly, just enough that Steven scoots away to give him more space - and ends up closer to Andrew. Their legs are pressed together now and Andrew’s breath hitches and then, as if he does it all the time, Steven leans once more on his shoulder. The butterflies make an unwanted comeback. And this time, Adam doesn’t say anything about Steven’s warm butt and Steven doesn’t move away and Andrew can’t think of anything besides Steven’s nose in the crook of his neck and the pounding of his own speeding heart.

They stay like that for the rest of the ride. As the minutes tick by, Steven’s breathing gradually steadies. Andrew’s doesn’t. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to puke anymore, but his head is still swirling around in a blender and his heart still wants to break out of its flesh-and-bone prison. Steven’s hand is resting on Andrew’s thigh, and his breath is on his neck, and everything is just so  _ warm _ . His face is burning. He’s dizzy. Maybe he’s got a fever.

Finally, after about fifteen minutes, Andrew’s apartment building comes into view.

He has never been more happy to see it. Right now, he wants nothing more than to collapse into bed and sleep this off.

“Steven.” He lifts his shoulder, jostling the other’s head. “I’m getting out.”

It takes a bit of shuffling, but he manages to coax a half-sleeping Steven off of him so he can unbuckle his seatbelt and climb gracelessly out of the car. He stumbles on the pavement, rights himself, turns to bid the others goodbye.

Steven is already looking at him. “G’night, Andrew.” His voice is low and drowsy and Andrew’s heart picks up speed. The nausea that had dissipated some is back for an encore. 

“Night,” he croaks. His mouth is suddenly very dry; he clears his throat weakly. The other two don’t seem to notice. Adam gives him a little wave, Steven smiles lazily, and Andrew closes the car’s door. He waves to Matt in the front seat and turns away.

He still feels sick as he rides the elevator up to his floor. The butterflies seem more like bees to him - buzzing and swarming and stinging up his insides. Steven’s sleepy voice echoes in his ears. His shoulder tingles with the ghost of Steven’s touch, and when he closes his eyes, he can see his gentle smile. The nausea doubles.

By the time he flops face first onto his bed, he hasn’t yet managed to banish thoughts of Steven from his head and he feels more ill than ever. Maybe it was something he ate. Food poisoning can make a person’s heart beat at twice the normal speed, right? 

(A nagging voice, oddly similar to Adam’s, in the back of his head tells him that no, Andrew, it can’t. He ignores it.)

He rolls onto his back, presses the heels of his palms against his eyes. A memory pops into his head, unbidden: a pretty girl with long red hair, tapping a pencil against the frame of her glasses.

He’s not sure why. He hasn’t thought about her in years. Her name was Anna, and she’d sat in front of him freshman year of high school. He had had the  _ worst _ crush on her. Every time he tried to talk to her, his mouth would go dry and his heart would start to beat a mile a minute. One time, her hand brushed his when he was handing her a pencil and his skin had tingled for the rest of the day. 

God, having a crush was so ridiculous. Whenever she was around, his hands would get all sweaty and he’d feel dizzy and nauseous and -

(Steven’s “G’night, Andrew” rings in his ears, making his head spin.)

And -

(His arm still tingles where Steven rested against it.)

And -

(That little smile is burned on his retinas every time he blinks.)

And sort of like how he feels now.

...

“Oh,  _ shit _ .”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I like this much??? writer's block is a blast but the world is severely lacking in standrew content and even mediocre standrew content is better than no standrew content so. I'm posting it. (shrug emoji)


End file.
